The Bloodstained Joker

A Story by Viole Cho

Darkness fell over the mansion, as the last of a soft glow of orange and red faded away. As the dials were turned, remnants of the warmth left in the lanterns burned brighter and brighter. Light exploded across the young girl’s bedroom, dodging only the space behind her dresser and bed. She was seated at the quaint little table in the center of the room. It was adorned with a table cloth and doilies with red hearts crocheted on. Such an enormous bedroom felt empty, for the little girl took up barely a fraction of the space. The ornate door creaked open as a handsome young gentleman in his early twenties, clad in a dashing black and white uniform, entered, and strode over the black spade-decorated carpet. He went past the canopied bed, avoiding the white chiffon printed with black clubs that hung from the bed, flowing with the breeze that was let in through the open balcony door. As he approached the table he came to a halt and bowed, but took caution as to not displace anything on the tray he held in his left hand. The handkerchief in his tailcoat pocket, his tie, and the curtains swaying in the wind all looked as if they were cut from the same cloth: white, with red diamonds printed on.
“Good evening, Miss Viole,” greeted the butler. He smiled a smile that held no happiness; it was merely an obligatory show of teeth. He set down the tray skillfully, not allowing even a single piece of silverware to rattle against another. “I’ve brought your favorite: Jackson’s Earl Grey and a lemon meringue slice. With two sugar cubes and a dash of milk, of course. The cook has included something remarkable tonight. I hope you find it to your liking.”
“Thank you, Edmund,” responded the girl, somewhat coldly. Viole reached for the red and white teacup, filled to the brim with steaming hot tea. She held the saucer with her other hand, sitting straight and tall with perfect posture. She indeed was the perfect product of excellent breeding. In all ways but one, that is.
Edmund bowed once again, gracefully spun around, and began to take his leave. He took not even four steps, terminated his advance, and let out a deep and long sigh. “Miss Viole, I beg of you, please put effort into keeping your living quarters tidy,” he requested, as he bent down to inspect the playing cards strewn about on the floor. Edmund reached for the cards, picking them up one by one. Ace of diamonds, three of clubs, eight of hearts. Forty-seven cards later, only three remained, lying in Edmund’s shadow. He smirked as he reached for the card that had been ripped in half. “How humorous, the king of diamonds,” he whispered to himself, as he picked up both pieces and added them to the pile. He added the next card, the queen of hearts to the pile as well. Again, Edmund lowly chuckled. The faces of the queen had been inked out, and lines were drawn down the middle of the hearts. Finally, he snapped up the last card: the joker.
He picked himself up, and ran his thumb through the deck of cards. Every card was in order, from two to ace, in order of suit. The spade suit was first, followed by diamond, club and lastly heart. Edmund was quite the efficient butler. He placed the deck of cards on an empty spot on the chaotic and disorganized vanity near the doorway, wished Viole a goodnight, and exited her bedroom, closing the door ever so silently.
Viole, daintily eating the delicious Brittany blue lobster the chef had prepared for her dinner, dejectedly stared out through the balcony window. Her eyes reflected the stars in the crepuscular light of the almost-night sky.
Outside, Edmund leaned against the wall of the hall and smiled sadly to himself. “She has absolutely everything a twelve-year old girl could want. Countless amounts of clothing, first-class food, lavish housing, but everything except a family. Everything but companionship. The lone joker, living in a world where the other cards already have their pairs,” he murmured as he walked down the diamond-decorated carpet of the hallway, turning off the lanterns, leaving only darkness behind him.

As color returned to the sky, and the birds commenced their early morning communication, Viole was awakened by Edmund’s gentle voice. Wearing his usual white gloves, he softly placed his warm hand on her head and brushed the hair from her face.
“Good morning Miss Viole. Your schedule for the day ahead is quite packed. We hope to see you at breakfast in precisely thirty minutes, your violin lessons commence at seven, shooting practice at half-past eight, dress fitting at…” his voice slowly faded and became inaudible, as Viole rolled over onto her side and drifted back to sleep. Edmund sighed and glided to the balcony window, took hold of the cloth, and pulled the curtains apart, letting bright sunshine burst into the bedroom, directly on the bed. Viole groaned in exasperation, and hauled the covers over her eyes. “Today, you’re free after six. Following your arithmetic classes, that is,” mentioned Edmund, as he proceeded to walk out of the bedroom.
Viole’s ears perked up, and she peeked over the bed covers. Her eyes snapped shut in reaction to the gleaming sunlight streaming in through the window. The radiance of the morning sun was quite the contrast to the darkness of her slumber, and her eyes burned momentarily. In an effort to adapt to her surroundings, Viole blinked repeatedly, shook off her drowsiness, and sluggishly removed her blankets. She let out a cute yawn, stretched her arms to the sky, and cheerfully hopped out of bed. She finally had some time to herself. No tedious mathematic problems, no cantankerous violin instructor, no uncomfortable dresses that restrict my breathing, no ill-mannered half-wits I must pretend to like. Her clock read seventeen minutes past six. Exactly eleven hours and forty-three minutes until freedom.
Hurriedly, the young heir washed up. In the vanity mirror, she combed her shoulder length locks of soft gold, and framed her face with petite ringlets. Viole stood still for a moment, and stared into the mirror. Her large, purple-tinged eyes stared back. At twenty to seven, Viole stood from the vanity seat, threw on her sundress, slipped on her shoes, grabbed her favorite sunhat, and was out the door.

The day progressed quite smoothly. Breakfast was held outside in the usual area, the gazebo in one of the many gardens, and Viole unwillingly attended her classes. She had not seen her parents today, but they were rarely found at home in any case. Her daily routine had continued uninterrupted like this for quite some time. This day was one with a different schedule though, and at precisely six in the afternoon Edmund watched through the third floor hallway window as Viole ran out the mansion door, through the lavish gardens, towards the hills.
By the time Viole reached the end of the property line, she heard voices. The screams and shouts of children filled the air. At the top of the large hill, she hurriedly looked for the source of the wails, but did not see what she expected. Half a dozen young girls and boys, no older than the age of thirteen or fourteen, were on the field below, kicking a ball around. Even from such a distance, Viole could see the large smiles painted across their faces, and immediately felt a small pang of both sadness and jealousy. She had always been told to never leave the family property, so she never had the chance to make any friends. Viole, resting on the grass, watching from her vantage point, followed the ball with her eyes. Her vision was much better than that of the average human. She could see every detail of the game continuing below, even the sweat on the players’ foreheads and noses.
The ball was continuously passed back and forth, and it looked like the team on the right was going to score. A short, somewhat chubby blond-haired girl lightly kicked the ball to the left to her male, red-haired teammate, but before he could receive the ball, the figure of a boy bolting in the opposite direction quickly stole it. Before anyone could do anything, he had already run a significant distance away from the blond girl and ginger boy, and within seconds he kicked the ball past the cans they had set up to mark the goal. The team on the left cheered, and ran to the boy to pat him on the back. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair, spraying sweat upwards.
“So cool…” breathed Viole. Her body had moved on its own, for she had changed from sitting on her behind, to resting on her hands and knees. The game had interested her quite a bit, and the champion of the team on the left had a smile that captivated her. She couldn’t look away, but her concentration broke as her butler called out to her.
           “Miss Viole, it’s getting dark. Please return to the residence, for your etiquette teacher has arrived,” hollered Edmund. Viole sighed, picked herself up, dusted the grass off of her dress, and strolled back through the gardens.
The black haired boy on the field faintly heard Edmund call out to Viole, and looked up to see the figure of a girl slowly walking away. She glanced back one more time to catch a glimpse of the boy, but to her surprise she found he was looking straight at her. Viole stopped walking and waved, and then awkwardly ran away, blushing slightly.

A week later, Viole had some free time again. As soon as the clock struck six, she scrambled towards the hill overlooking the field, hoping to find the same group of children playing games. More importantly, she hoped to see the boy again.
Her wishes were granted, and the same half-dozen children were fighting over the same ball. She noticed the red-haired boy and the chubby blond girl. Her hair was so blond it almost appeared white. Viole scanned the children’s faces, and smiled slightly as she found the face she was looking for. It was the first time in a while since she’s felt any feeling of happiness, other than the rare times in her classes when she’s perfected something she liked doing.
The trees rustled violently, and a flock of black birds scrambled out, into the colored sky. Viole turned to look, and her hair flipped in the breeze. When she turned back to the game, she had lost sight of the boy. One… two… only five! Where did he go? Viole, who only came to watch for the black-haired boy, quickly got bored with the one-sided ball game. Not even five minutes later, she sighed and stood from her position on the grass, once again dusted off her dress, and sadly began to walk back to her house.
“Wait!” someone called out, and Viole spun around to see who beckoned her. Her eyes widened slightly as she made out the identity of the person. He was a little taller than her, wearing beige trousers, and a brown vest over a white shirt. His disheveled appearance matched his black hair, which however, was less sweaty than how she had seen him the first time. “You were here last week correct? Why don’t you play with us, rather than stay up here and watch. Frankly it’s a bit creepy as well. The name’s Gilbert, but most of my friends call me Gil. What’s your name?” His voice was the voice of a typical young boy who had not gone through puberty yet, but it had some low tones as well. She deduced he was probably around the age of thirteen or fourteen. He’s quite the talkative fellow... I don’t know how to converse with such people… Gilbert put out his hand.
“My n-name is Viole. It’s a pleasure to meet you, G-Gil,” stuttered Viole, as she reached for his hand. She tried looking him in the eye, but as their hands met she immediately looked down, turning a pinkish shade. Remembering what he had said, Viole responded, “I beg your pardon though; I cannot go further than my family’s property. Edmund says if I do, mommy and daddy won’t stay home as long and I won’t be able to see them as often.”
“You sound like a real rich girl, Milady Viole,” he bowed from the waist, put his hand out once more, looked up and added, “but we’ll keep this a secret. Follow me; I know a nice place nearby. This Edmund fellow won’t even find out, don’t worry.” With green, earnest eyes, he looked into hers.
She hesitated at first, but Gilbert looked like a prince to her. She gave into him and gently placed her hand in his. He grasped it tightly, and quickly pulled her along, as she struggled to keep up.
“Let’s go!” he shouted, and they ran further and further into the woods.
They both ran for some time, until they reached a clearing. Streams of light filtered through the branches, onto a quaint house placed among the trees. Both pairs of feet approached the house, and climbed up the porch stairs. The three stairs creaked with every bit of pressure put onto them, and so did the porch itself. Gilbert, without hesitation, opened the door, and Viole meekly followed close behind. He ran up the stairs, and motioned for her to walk up quicker. When she reached the top of the staircase, her eyes widened once more, as the most beautiful grand piano she had ever seen, sat in the middle of a dingy room. It glistened in the sunlight that crept through the wispy curtains on the windows. Is this Gilbert’s? He must maintain it very well…
Other than the piano, the room was completely empty. It looked as if it had been the former master bedroom of someone’s home. “I used to live here. My parents gave me this house to live in by myself, but then my mother was murdered by someone. He had red eyes I tell you, red eyes! No one believes me though, and the authorities think it was some run-of-the-mill asylum escapee,” ranted Gilbert.
“I’m so sorry…” was all that could squeak out of Viole’s voice box.
He chuckled slightly, sighed and replied, “I think I’m fine now. My father had me move back in with him, but I still come here quite often to play this.” He rested a hand on the piano, and propped up the lid. He then proceeded to seat himself on the piano bench, lifted the cover and began to play.
Viole could do nothing but stand in awe, listening to Gilbert’s emotional piano playing. The deep, rich notes of the piano bounced off the walls, ringing through her ears. She felt the low notes through her feet to her chest, and the high notes rebounded off her eardrums. Goosebumps crept onto her arms, and her hands began to tingle. What emotion… How much has he been through? The song reached its final notes, but the chord continued to ring, until it slowly faded out of the room. Gilbert turned back at Viole and smiled a somewhat sad smile.

           For years, Viole’s days off consisted of Gilbert and his empty, old house. They sat in the once-abandoned dining room, and laughed over snacks and tea for as long as they could. He taught her how to play piano upstairs, and by her thirteenth year she could play at concert level. The spring after her thirteenth birthday, a lost kitten had wandered into the once-forgotten residence. Gilbert called the feline her present, and together they dubbed him Jabberwock. He soon became part of their little family, and was given milk by Gilbert on a regular basis. Jabberwock was not the only one excited when Viole visited though, and Gilbert’s efforts to get her to stay longer increased day by day. By her fifteenth year, Viole could complete her activities so quickly and efficiently, she had made seven hours of leisure time a week to see Gilbert. By then, he had turned into quite the dashing young gentleman, and she into a very beautiful young lady. Her cute features had turned to those of a porcelain doll, and he could not keep his eyes off her. That winter, Gilbert’s father passed away, and Gilbert became the head of his family. He then confessed to Viole who he really was. At first she was shocked, but felt more guilt in the fact that she couldn’t confess who she was.
“Gil, you’re the head of the Abileen family. Please take your responsibilities seriously,” scolded Viole. His days with Viole were numbered, but he did his best to meet with her a minimum of seven hours a week.
Gilbert groaned at the thought of going back to work, but rose from the dining room table to take Viole back to her property line. “I’ll see you next time?” he questioned.
“Absolutely.”
This arrangement seemed to work quite well, and they enjoyed their time together, but it was less than what they wanted. Even so, everything took a turn for the worse in her sixteenth year.

Four summers had passed since the day she met Gilbert, and Edmund finally got word of her parents' whereabouts through a letter they had sent. It had been addressed directly to Viole, and upon her return from the woods one day, Edmund handed it to her, unopened. She smirked at the letter now in her hand. It’s been four years, and you choose to contact me now? Let’s hope you’re begging for forgiveness. She ripped open the envelope and began to read.

“Hello, our darling Viole,
          We don’t have much time, but the fact you’ve received this letter most likely means we’re dead. Disclosing the truth of our absence within one short letter will be difficult, but we shall keep it brief.
         We love you Viole, we really do, and we always have. We’re sorry for staying away from home, and making you feel as if we were neglecting you. We know it won’t make up for it, but we’ve been away solely for your benefit.
       Fifteen years ago, you were given to us by a man with red eyes who showed up at our door and disappeared quickly after. You were only a small baby; we could not leave you on your own. Before we took you into the mansion with us, he returned and told us, ‘That demon-child is cursed, and is destined to cross paths and kill the seventeenth head of the Abileen household. Whether she chooses to die after is her own decision.’ Before we could ask him anymore, he vanished from our sight.
           We know this is a lot to take in, but you are not our child, Viole. You are the child of a demon, Gryphon Alois, and your true name is Cermina. You are the child of a demon and human, a half-demon. We spent our lives researching demons, and how we could prevent such a tragedy in your life from occurring, but it looks as if we have failed. By now, you’ve most likely already met the head of the Abileens. They’re a family of demons. Be wary, our child. We will look over you from our resting place.
       Believe us, and be careful. We love you,
                                       Oscar and Cordelia Bathory, your parents.”

That insignia.., it’s them, it’s really them. But, what is this nonsense about demons and whatnot? How in the world am I to believe this?
           Viole read over the letter multiple times, and with every word she began to trust them more and more. She wondered, what made her a demon? How were they different from normal humans? Her eyesight was impeccable, and she questioned if that was a quality of demons. Did her ability to learn many things, and learn them quickly, come from her blood as well?
A week passed, and Viole decided that this way, she won’t be able to deduce anything about herself, so she ran downstairs. She encountered Edmund on her way, and he informed her that a young boy a little older than her, with jet-black hair, had come to the mansion asking for her. Gil? He notified her that as soon as the name “Bathory” was mentioned, the boy’s eyes flared up in anger, and he ran away from the mansion. Viole immediately dashed through the door, through the gardens, and into the woods.
           The approach to the clearing was different than usual. The sky burned a dim shade of red that shone through the trees, as if they were on fire. Leaves and branches crunched on the ground below her as she stepped. The sound echoed through the trees. The woods felt hollow, and devoid of life. She finally reached the clearing, and rather than the dozens of woodland birds that could usually be found there, all that was in sight was a lone crow. Red light exploded over the house, but Viole continued walking. As she reached the door, she hesitated, like she had when she first came here with Gilbert. This time though, Gilbert was not there to open the door for her. She held her breath, reached for the handle, and opened the door.
The house was empty. “Gil? Gilbert? Are you there?” she called out, but received no response. She walked into the dining room they so often sat in, and in just a week the table had gained a layer of dust. Jabberwock’s milk bowl was nearly full, but Jabberwock was nowhere to be found. Viole finally climbed up the stairs.
No light entered the piano room, as if everything was being shut out on purpose. The curtains were drawn, but the light outside could not be seen. A black fog began to fill up the room, and a figure appeared. He was much taller than Viole, and had jet-black hair. He looked the same as he usually did, but upon his head were black ears. Cat ears, in fact. As he became fully visible, he looked up at her, and gave her a sinister smile. Sharp, animal-like teeth had replaced his, and claws replaced his hands. “Chesire’s the name. Chesire Grell, actually,”
At the mention of the name, Viole’s head felt as if it were about to explode. The information began to flood in. Grell. Faustus Grell’s son. What happened to her Gilbert? His wife… his wife was murdered… by Gryphon, by my father.
“You killed her. Your filthy bloodline cannot exist,” he snarled at her, and lunged for her with his claws. Viole had not brought any weapons with her, for she did not want to harm him. He was still Gilbert after all; this was just his demonic side. In a flash, she was on the floor, but his claws had not struck her. Somehow, she materialized a scepter and blocked his advance. Viole pushed him off, and realized she no longer was Viole Bathory, but Cermina Alois. Her clothes had changed to those of a dark jester; all but the silly hat, that is. Her eyes glowed a red similar to the red of the light outside, just like her father’s. “Those eyes… must be eliminated!” he attacked her once again, but her eyes easily saw his slash. In an instant, the tip of her scepter morphed into a blade, and with tears in her eyes she countered. The jab went straight through his heart and sent him gasping for air. So, even demons bleed red blood. ..
“I’m sorry, Viole, I don’t know what came over me,” he choked. It didn’t matter to Viole if he was Gilbert or Chesire, as tears ran down his face. “These past four years were fun, and I really do love you. Please, find it in your heart to forgive me, and move on?” He placed a bloody hand on her cheek, and it left a small mark as the remaining life in him was being drained out. “I’m sorry,” he murmured once again.
The sixteen year old girl was left, stuck somewhere between Viole and Cermina, seated alone, in a now-abandoned piano room. His blood gushed out, staining her clothes and skin. Her cries filled the room, and as the fog lifted, she once again was alone in her world.

© 2012 Viole Cho

Author's Note

My first short story in a few years. Completely amateurish.

English class assignment, 4000 word limit (went over slightly), I think I rushed towards the end and it ruined it.

What do you think could be improved? Please be as critical as possible (:
Thank you